


Red Tape

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Cliche, Domestic, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Harlequin, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Riftless, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark’s illegal, and Lex makes him a green card proposal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Tape

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [繁文缛节](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121500) by [lisabart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisabart/pseuds/lisabart)



Fairness was an overrated concept—this was Clark’s big thought of the day. After all, when was life ever fair to him? He hunkered down over his keyboard, trying to concentrate. He had three articles due in two days, leads for new stories he desperately needed to follow up on, and if he didn’t do laundry soon, he was going to be very unpopular in the newsroom. The only reason he was even in this jam was because there was some kind of full-moon effect stirring up the city’s criminal population. In the past twenty-four hours, he’d thwarted four armed robberies, a half dozen carjackings, assorted muggings, burglaries and felonious assaults. That was before Krakatoa exploded, a tsunami threatened to take out Tokyo, and a swarm of locusts needed corralling before it could decimate Montserrat’s entire cassava crop.

It was a point of honor with him not to use his abilities in his non-super life, a lesson he’d learned playing football in high school. If he was going to compete with other reporters, he should do it on their terms. But, oh, what he wouldn’t give right now to type his article as fast as his fingers would go. Although with his luck that would probably just make the computer explode.

The phone rang, and kept right on ringing no matter how pointedly he ignored it. He glared at it in a fit of work-crazed annoyance, half tempted to send it up in a puff of smoke.

Finally, he snapped up the receiver and answered with the what-do-you-want voice he’d picked up from Lois.

“Mr. Kent, it’s Lex Luthor.”

Clark instinctively sat up straighter and adopted a more genial tone. “What can I do for you, Mr. Luthor?”

The new mayor was rather a puzzle. His father’s reputation was well-known, a long career of bribery and bizarre experiments and corporate wrongdoing that had ultimately landed him in jail for fifteen to life. Rumors abounded that the son was even more of a shark, and yet he went out of his way to make himself available to the press, opening up corporate records and giving statements and taking time to answer questions, even the belligerent ones Lois liked to fire at him. He actually volunteered for interviews on occasion, calling Clark up out of the blue to set up a meeting. _Best to keep the public informed, don’t you think?_ he’d always say.

Today, though, he had more pressing business in mind. “I’m calling on a matter of some urgency,” the mayor’s voice came over the line like warm honey. He had an unsettling knack for being able to talk about any subject—homelessness, crime rates, budgetary shortfalls—and make it sound like something better left in the bedroom. Clark often found it difficult to concentrate at press conferences. “I understand you’re able to get messages to Superman. I was hoping you’d do me a favor and ask if he could stop by my office this afternoon.”

“Well—” He looked at the daunting stack of papers on his desk. “Superman’s kind of busy.”

“I realize that, Mr. Kent. As I mentioned before, this is rather important.”

Clark let out his breath. “Okay. I’ll let him know.”

He churned out as much work as he could do that morning, offered up the usual vague excuse to Perry (“There’s this thing I’ve got to go take care of, Chief”), ignored Lois’ hard stare of curiosity, and took off from the roof of the Planet. At City Hall, they’d set aside a courtyard where he could land, and the mayor’s personal assistant, a tall dark-haired woman who took her job just a little bit too seriously in Clark’s opinion, was already there waiting for him.

“Good afternoon, Superman. Mayor Luthor asked me to show you into his office as soon as you arrived. If you’ll follow me,” she said briskly, ushering him inside. Clark had to believe she’d display the same cool expediency whether she was planning a black-tie gala or disarming a nuclear bomb.

Inside, the mayor was on the phone, and Clark drifted around the office while he waited, noting the changes the new occupant had made. Gone was the ponderous carved wooden furniture that looked as if it had been plundered from a twelfth-century Bavarian fortress, replaced by glass and chrome and leather everything, modern, stylish and ergonomically correct, no doubt. It had probably been a wise move clearing out all reminders of the former mayor considering how he’d ended up, doing eighteen months in the state penitentiary for illegally accepting gifts. This was one of the reasons Luthor had won the election by such a landslide. Voters felt confident the richest man in Metropolis couldn’t be bought off with some all-expenses-paid trips to Barbados and a few big screen TVs.

“Well, find out what the sanitation workers want so they won’t strike,” Luthor demanded into the phone. “Taxpayers don’t like it when the streets are lined with refuse.” He hung up. “Superman, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” He rose from his desk to shake hands. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“Clark Kent relayed it was something important.”

“It is, in fact.” Luthor’s eyes traveled over him, and Clark alternately wondered if he was studying him like a specimen or imaging him with his clothes off. “Before we get down to it, can I get you something to drink?” He went to the mini fridge.

Clark shook his head, and Luthor helped himself to a bottle of water.

“So this urgent matter you wanted to discuss with me—” Clark prompted.

“Yes.” He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “You may have heard about the recent efforts to tighten up on illegal immigration since the economy has taken a downturn. Or perhaps you’re too busy out making news to watch it?”

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. “I do my best to keep up.”

In fact, he had covered the story for the _Planet_ and had been thoroughly sickened by the cynicism of Washington bureaucrats, playing on people’s biases to distract attention from their own fiscal incompetence. If the mayor thought he was going to recruit Superman to help with the witch hunt, he had another thing coming. He put on his most stoic expression. This usually discouraged people from asking favors.

The mayor continued unfazed, “You must know then that there’s increasing pressure on states and localities to assist with the crackdown. Metropolis isn’t in any position to sacrifice federal tax dollars. We’re already hard-pressed to deal with the deficit caused by my predecessor’s mismanagement. I’m sure you must see by now what I’m getting at.”

“Actually, no.”

“You are Metropolis’ most high-profile resident.”

He frowned. “Perhaps you could just get to the point, Mr. Mayor?” Surely Lex Luthor didn’t believe Superman was susceptible to flattery?

“My point,” Luthor took a calm sip of water, “is that you’re an illegal alien.”

Clark’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“Technically speaking. You have no citizenship. No visa. No green card.”

“I— But—” he stammered.

“It would be unethical to give you preferential treatment simply based on who you are. I know that’s a principle of fair play you yourself subscribe to.” Luthor smiled genially.

Clark narrowed his eyes. He’d investigated some allegations against Luthor before the election—claims that had ultimately proved groundless—and he’d used practically those same words when asked by the press why he was checking up on such a prominent citizen.

Luthor breezed on, “Now the residency issue we could probably resolve easily enough. After all, what country on Earth wouldn’t like to claim Superman as one of its citizens? It’s the work permit that’s a stickier issue in these hard economic times.”

“Work permit?” Clark was only getting more confused. “I volunteer my services. And besides—”

Wasn’t there some stipulation that an immigrant could be hired for a position as long as there was no equally qualified citizen available for the job? Did Lex Luthor honestly believe someone else wanted to be out smothering explosives with their body and catapulting runaway nuclear missiles into space?

“Of course, of course. Superman is a purely not-for-profit enterprise,” Luthor said. “It’s your alter ego that causes your legal difficulties, I’m afraid. As Clark Kent, you do draw a salary from the _Daily Planet_ , don’t you?”

Clark glowered. “I have no idea what you—”

Luthor just waved him off. “Let’s not insult each other’s intelligence, Mr. Kent. I made it my first order of business after the election to solve the riddle of Superman. I’d hardly be a responsible public servant if I didn’t know the identity of the city’s most powerful being, and when I’m determined to gain information, I pretty much always do. Needless to say, I was extremely discreet, and this will remain our little secret.”

“If this is about forcing me out of Metropolis—”

“It isn’t,” Luthor interrupted him, “What good would that do me? Being known as the mayor who gave Superman his walking papers is hardly the way to build political capital, and my ambitions extend well beyond City Hall, I assure you. For that same reason, I can’t simply assume no one will ever learn your identity.” He held Clark’s gaze. “I’m bringing this to you as a problem to solve, not an ultimatum. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“Like what?” Clark started to pace, until an idea hit him. “Doesn’t it make a difference that my adopted parents are citizens?”

“It would,” Lex agreed, “if the adoption were legal.”

Clark deflated. “Oh.” He went back to pacing.

“I suppose there is the old standby,” Lex ventured, and Clark stopped mid-stride to hear him out. “How do you feel about matrimony?”

He blinked. “Why?”

“A green card marriage would solve all your problems. Without actual application for the green card, of course. That way if you were ever found out, you would be on solid footing with the immigration authorities.” He looked at Clark speculatively. “There must be someone special in your life.”

He shook his head.

“Well, then, perhaps there’s a friend who’d agree to do you a favor? You could safely divorce after a year.”

Clark flashed through the few contenders who came to mind. Just imaging how hard Lois would laugh if he proposed to her made his face turn hot. Chloe had sworn off being anything more than friends with him long ago. And Lana was still holding a grudge about things that had happened in high school. If she was his only other option, they’d just have to deport him.

“There’s no one,” he said.

Luthor’s forehead creased in concentration. “Well, there is one possibility I can think of.” His face lit up as if pleased with his own genius. “You could marry me.”

Clark waited for the punch line, but it never came.

“Think about it,” Luthor said. “It would solve both our problems. You’d be on the right side of the immigration laws, and I wouldn’t have to worry about giving preferential treatment to a superhero and possibly facing the loss of federal funding.”

Clark could form no words.

Luthor raised an eyebrow at him. “Or do your people have some scruple against same-sex relationships?”

“Well, no.” Unless by “his people”, Luthor meant his conservative, values-voting father. “But do you—I mean, wouldn’t it hurt your political career?”

Lex waved off the possibility. “Voters overwhelming support freedom of choice, and I’ve never hidden the fact of my bisexuality.”

“Oh,” Clark said feebly.

“Well, that’s it then.” Luthor clapped his hands together as if it were a done deal.

Clark could not seem to get his balance in this conversation, and the whole thing just kept spiraling out of control. “But—”

Luthor held up a hand. “You don’t have to worry about the arrangements. I’ll take care of everything. You might like to ask someone to act as your witness. Otherwise, all you need to do is show up.” His eyes traveled over Clark’s suit, and he added, “Dressed for the occasion, of course.”

“But—”

Luthor smiled. “I’ll have my assistant call you with the details. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to work.”

Clark practically stumbled out of the office, causing the handful of staffers waiting outside to gawk at him. A thoroughly flummoxed Superman was not what people were used to seeing.

He found his way back out to the courtyard and took flight with one dizzying question in mind: Had he _really_ just agreed to marry Lex Luthor?

* * *

The Metropolis City Courthouse was no doubt a great place to hold a class action lawsuit. As a wedding venue, Clark found it sorely lacking. The halls were a particularly industrial shade of gray, paint pitifully flecking off the walls, the dark green speckled linoleum a holdover from some bygone era when “ugly” and “dignified” were easily confused. Outside the City Clerk’s office, a long line of lovebirds waited to make their devotion official. Some couples were dressed in jeans, others lounged casually against the wall finishing off their lattes. If not for the occasional poofy white dress, Clark could just as easily have been in line to renew his driver’s license.

Beside him, Lois fidgeted—waiting was never her strong suit—and she worked off her nervous energy adjusting and re-adjusting her extravaganza of a hat that really was a bit much for a wedding taking place in a building made of cinderblocks. “I always knew you were gay,” she remarked, for at least the hundredth time.

Clark wondered yet again why he’d thought it was a good idea to ask her to be his witness.

He was trying not to stare at the door, but he couldn’t keep himself from glancing over every, oh, fraction of a second or so. He knew it was ridiculous to be nervous on his wedding-of-convenience day, but there were only ten minutes to go before they were scheduled to appear before the judge and no sign of Lex.

“Relax, Smallville,” Lois told him. “He’s going to show. I mean, can you imagine what it would do to his approval rating if he left his boyfriend at the altar?”

He was just about to tell Lois to stop trying to make him feel better when Luthor swept through the double doors, surrounded by his assistant, some aides and a handful of brawny men in oversized dark blue suits who were quite obviously his security detail.

It was not as if Clark had never noticed how attractive the man was—he had eyes, he could see—but today, Luthor seemed especially eye-popping, immaculate in a dark pin-striped suit and plum shirt. He was wearing his I’ve-got-a-secret smile that could make the strongest knees go weak, and it was trained on Clark as if he were the only other person in the room.

Lois said under her breath, “You know, I never would have guessed you’d marry so well. Or…at all, to be honest.”

She was eyeing Luthor the way all the female reporters in the press corps did—and who was he kidding, half the male reporters, too—like politics had never been more interesting. Clark was tempted to bring up the rotten things she used to say about him—that he was a chip off the old block, a major player in the Metropolis underworld, quite possibly responsible for global warming—before their investigation failed to turn up any evidence that he so much as jaywalked. He settled for shooting her a “please stop talking now” look and went to meet his husband-to-be.

“Clark.” Luthor clapped him companionably on the shoulder. “You’re looking well. I like that suit.”

Clark’s cheeks went hot. He had in fact spent the better part of two days trying to find something to wear that wouldn’t embarrass his incredibly stylish fiancée. Fashion was not exactly his forte. “Um, thanks, Luth—uh, Lex.”

Lex suppressed a smile. “Ready?” He looked around. “Are your parents here?”

“Well—”

Clark had practiced breaking the news to them any number of times, sometimes in his head, sometimes out loud when he was home alone. It had never gone well. Finally, he’d decided it would be simpler just to announce it after the fact, present it as a fait accompli, pass it off as a romantic whim. He couldn’t tell them the real reason he was getting married. They’d only feel guilty, and it wasn’t their fault there was no legal way to adopt a child who fell from the sky.

“I’m afraid they’re not going to be able to make it,” he told Lex.

“Really?” Lois piped up. As usual, it was at the most inopportune moment. “Your ‘Leave it to Beaver’ parents can’t make it to their only son’s wedding? I would have thought they’d be all postal about it. You know, neither rain nor sleet nor impending apocalypse could keep them away.”

“It’s harvest time. They’re _busy_ ,” he said, hoping Lois would get the message and just shut up already.

Lex studied him closely. For a moment, he looked as if he might ask more questions, but then he seemed to think better of it. “The judge is waiting.” He laid a hand on Clark’s arm and guided him down the hall. Lois and entourage followed.

The room where they were to be married was less shabby than the rest of the building, although rather austere, with dark wood panels and stark white plaster. The judge, dressed in black robes, waited at the front of the room behind a lectern, and the sight of him, somber and official, sent a jolting reminder through Clark of what he was about to do. Pledge himself for life to another person. Someone he hardly knew.

They took their places, and the judge cleared his throat.

Lois whispered in Clark’s ear, “Just so you know, I really am happy for you.”

Clark swallowed hard, and the judge began to speak, and it all passed in a blur. Clark’s mind was racing with too many things to follow the words, telling his parents and getting his father to believe Lex wasn’t the Fortune 500 equivalent of the anti-Christ and trying to imagine what life would be like after this. Occasionally some word would seep through the fog, “cherish” or “union” or “beloved”, making the experience all the more surreal. When both Lex and the judge turned to him, he said, “I do.” Which must have been the right answer, because the ceremony continued on.

It was the ring that finally snapped him back to his senses, Lex sliding it onto his finger, the heavy gold of it that made his hand feel entirely different, putting the same symbol of til-death-do-us-part on Lex’s hand.

“I pronounce you partners for life,” the judge said, smiling expectantly.

It wasn’t until Lex leaned in that Clark realized why. The kiss was a brief, soft touch of the lips. Lex’s mouth felt cool beneath his, and it struck Clark how truly crazy this whole thing was. On what should have been the happiest day of his life, he was kissing a veritable stranger.

Afterwards, Lex held his hand—newly married people did that, Clark supposed—and offered Lois a ride back to the office.

“I’m afraid it’s probably a circus out front. I’ll have my people show you out the back way. There’s a car waiting for you,” he told her and turned to Clark. “If you’re feeling up to it, we should go face the press. Give them their photo op. They won’t leave us alone until we do.”

Clark bristled at the insult to journalists. “Whatever you think,” he said coolly.

He doubted there would actually be reporters waiting for them. That was just Lex’s ego talking. After all, they’d gotten married; they hadn’t robbed a bank or cured cancer.

Lex tightened his grip on his hand. “Be prepared,” he said. “It’s a lot different on the other side of the camera.”

The second they stepped out the door, a veritable sea of flashbulbs went off, half blinding Clark. Throngs of reporters closed in on them despite the best efforts of Lex’s security team, shoving microphones into their faces, firing questions at them from all sides. Clark was nearly paralyzed by the chaos—it was far worse than anything he’d ever faced as Superman—and Lex calmly did the talking for them both.

_Have you been dating long? Why were you never seen in public together?_

“We preferred to keep our relationship private,” Lex said.

_What prompted you to get married so suddenly?_

“When it’s the right time, it’s the right time.”

_Where will you honeymoon?_

“The Amalfi coast, although business keeps us in town for the moment. We hope to be able to get away this summer.”

When they finally reached the limo, Clark had never been so relieved in his life.

“Mr. Luthor!” one final question rang out. “How do you feel?”

Lex smiled for the cameras. “Like the luckiest man in the world.” He shoved Clark into the car and got in after him.

A security guy slammed the door, and they took off at last.

“God,” Clark muttered.

Lex shot him a sympathetic look. “It is rather overwhelming at first, but you get used to it.”

“Used to it?” Clark said in horror.

There was going to be more of this?

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

Lex smiled. “Home, naturally.”

* * *

_Home_ was…well, not exactly what Clark was used to, having spent the last seven years living in a cramped, windowless one-bedroom apartment. Seventy stories up, Lex Luthor’s penthouse overlooked the whole of Metropolis—the waterfront from one set of floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of midtown, trees in the park, and Memorial Bridge from the others. The décor was pristinely modern, just like Lex’s office at City Hall, white sofas, glass and wrought iron tables, a stereo system so technologically advanced it looked as if it could control the weather while simultaneously pumping out the Dolby surround sound.

Clark watched his step, careful not to bump into anything he might break. “Um, it’s—uh—” _Nice_ really didn’t cover it.

“Let me give you the tour,” Lex said.

He breezed Clark through the place, pointing out the kitchen, bathrooms, entertainment room with the biggest plasma TV Clark had ever seen.

“And I’ve arranged for this to be your room.” Lex showed him into a large, airy bedroom.

Clark froze in his tracks. The quilt his mother had made him was neatly spread over the bed. There was a stack of his books on the nightstand. His Smallville High pennant on the wall.

“I took the liberty. I hope you don’t mind,” Lex said. “I thought it would help you feel more at home. The superintendent of your building was very helpful once I explained why I needed to get into your apartment.”

Clark opened a drawer out of morbid curiosity, and indeed there was his underwear, neatly folded. Lex Luthor had handled his boxer shorts.

“I just—I didn’t think—” He broke into a sweat.

“The marriage has to appear legitimate,” Lex explained. “Otherwise, it does us no good. If we lived apart, it would raise questions we’re not prepared to answer.”

He gestured as he spoke, and the light caught his ring. Clark stared. This was the man he’d married. His _husband_. It was starting to feel more real now, in a panicky sort of way.

“Let me show you next door,” Lex said. “I had it set up as an office.”

He led Clark through the connecting door. This room was as large as the bedroom and as impeccably furnished as the rest of the house, with an over-sized desk near the windows, leather chair, computer, phone, even notepads personalized with his monogram. He’d be better equipped to work here than at the _Planet_ , where he had a beaten up old metal desk, a stack of scrap paper, and a phone he still had to share with Lois.

“This is very nice,” he told Lex. “Thank you.”

Lex looked pleased and said, “There’s just one more thing.” He took Clark back down the hall and opened another door. There was a flight of stairs going up. “It leads to the roof, a discreet way in and out when you need to…take care of business. There’s state-of-the-art security on it. It’s been programmed to recognize you and open automatically.”

He looked around, as if to see if there was anything he was forgetting.

“No, I think that’s it,” he said. “I’ll let you get settled. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’ll be in my office catching up on some work.” He pointed down the hall.

Clark headed back to his bedroom, shut the door and sat down on the end of the bed, head in his hands. There was really nothing to do, nothing to unpack or arrange—it had already been done for him—all that was left for him was to get used to being here. That was going to take a bit more doing than hanging up his shirts.

He felt at loose ends, out of his element, a little disoriented, and he looked around for the remote control to the TV. He finally found it in the drawer of the bedside table, and flipped it on. He thought if he could remind himself that the world was still the world it would help him feel more like himself.

Unfortunately, he tuned in to the two of them standing outside the courthouse.

“To repeat, we have breaking news,” the anchorwoman said into the camera, her expression so utterly serious she could have been reporting the outbreak of World War III. “The mayor of Metropolis, billionaire businessman Lex Luthor, wed earlier today to Clark Kent, investigative journalist for the _Daily Planet_. We’ll bring you further developments on this story as they happen. Now back to your regularly scheduled program.”

“Further developments?” Clark jeered at the television. “What further developments?”

He snapped it off with a snort of disgust. How was that newsworthy enough to interrupt even afternoon soap operas for? Local TV reporters were an embarrassment to the entire profession.

Then it hit him that his mother never missed an episode of One Life to Live, and he leaped up from the bed. “Shit!”

He speed-dialed his parents’ number, and after the phone rang close to a dozen times, his mother finally picked up. “Hello?” Her voice was choked.

“Mom?”

There was silence.

“Mom.” He swallowed hard. “Please. I can explain.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she finally asked, with what might have been a stifled sob.

“Well—it was, kind of, a whim, I guess you could call it.” It sounded a lot weaker now that he was actually saying it out loud.

“Why didn’t you at least tell us you were gay?”

He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

“You didn’t think it would make a difference, did you? Honey, you have to know that we’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“I know, Mom. I know,” he said reassuringly.

Then she shifted into practical mode. “We want to meet your,” she paused, but Clark gave her credit for not letting her voice break, “husband.”

“I, uh—I really want that, too. But—it’s been kind of overwhelming with all the publicity and everything. Let us get settled in, and then we’ll come visit. Okay?”

“Okay.” She sounded somewhat mollified.

“How, uh, is Dad doing with all this?” Clark asked rather hesitantly.

“He’s…surprised, but he wanted me to tell you how much he loves you and that he’s proud of you and that he’s looking forward to getting to know his son-in-law.” Clearly, that last point had been added at his mother’s prompting.

“I love you both,” he said. “Tell Dad for me.”

“I will. And Clark?”

“Uh-huh?”

“The next time you decide to do something on a whim? Don’t.”

* * *

There were few tests in life quite like living with someone you didn’t know. Clark had only done it once, his first year in college. Even then, he and his roommate had kept such different schedules (Clark’s internal clock had still been set to get up with the cows and his roommate usually didn’t stagger home until about that time), and they’d been such different people (Chip Kelly was endowed with a trust fund and a legacy-secured spot in Alpha Chi Alpha, the popular, rich guy fraternity on campus, while Clark spent most of his free time at the school paper and working at the library) that they’d seen each other a grand total of about fifteen minutes over the two semesters. And yet, when Chip came to get his stuff at the end of the school year, he’d joked with his buddies on the way out, “Thank God I don’t have to live with that dork anymore.”

The experience had left Clark, perhaps, a little overly sensitive, prone to trying too hard. Even if he couldn’t do anything about being a dork, he figured, at least he could be considerate and non-annoying. So he made sure to put the cap back on the toothpaste, even though he had his own bathroom and Lex would never have noticed anyway. He sat up straight at meals and kept his elbows off the table. Every morning, he made his bed with crisp hospital corners, although he’d been a total slob when he’d lived alone and Lex kept gently reminding him that there was a housekeeper to take care of it. As far as he was concerned, it was worth the extra effort. Because it was one thing if Chip Kelly couldn’t stand living with him, and quite another if his husband, however temporary, felt that way.

Of course, the penthouse was large enough for them to lead virtually independent lives. The only time they were really thrown together was at meals, faced off across the dining room table, fumbling to make conversation. Clark’s repertoire consisted mainly of _Busy day ahead?_ at breakfast and _Hectic day, huh?_ over dinner and the all-occasion _Pass the salt, please._

It fell largely to Lex to break the ice, and fortunately, he seemed at no loss for words. He would quote recent articles Clark had written and offer his own insight, or solicit Clark’s opinion on matters of public policy he was wrestling with, or describe his plans for evolving LuthorCorp into a leader in sustainable agriculture. Afterwards, Clark was always startled to realize how much time had passed, how surprisingly easy it was to talk to Lex when he didn’t let his own social phobias get in the way.

The one subject Lex never mentioned was Superman. It seemed a point of honor for him to respect Clark’s privacy, and Clark was abjectly grateful for it. Even with his parents, Superman was always the pink elephant in any conversation. They kept their questions cryptic (“How’s that thing been going lately?”) and he kept his answers vague (“Fine, just fine.”) What good would it do to talk about it anyway? And who would want to hear it? Hear that the cries for help went on all day and all night, never quieting, never stopping. That the faces of the people he couldn’t save played back at him in his dreams. That no matter how many spectacular rescues he managed to pull off he still went through life with a persistent, low-grade sense of failure. At least he found some satisfaction knowing he wasn’t burdening anyone else with his problems.

The secret entrance helped him keep Superman separate from his married life. He could slip out and in, most times without Lex even noticing. Tonight had been a long night of superhero business, and by the time he got home it was close to two in the morning. He was smeared with soot, the acrid reek of smoke and the all-too-familiar stench of seared flesh clinging to his clothes, As he trudged down the stairs to the apartment, the one comforting thought he had was that at least Lex would be asleep and there would be no need to explain.

As he came through the door, though, he nearly plowed right into him, and froze, dreading the onslaught.

Lex simply looked him over and said, “Go take a shower. I’ll get you a drink.”

Of course, alcohol didn’t work on Clark the way it did everyone else, but it was nice of Lex to offer, and at least he wasn’t peppering him with well-meaning questions. Maybe the simple ritual of having a drink would help him relax. He padded off down the hall, and enjoyed the dual jet, massage-action shower in his bathroom as he never had before. He put on his oldest, most comfortable pair of sweatpants and his faded Crows T-shirt and went to look for Lex in the living room.

He found him ensconced in the leather chair, laptop balanced on his knee, a rather daunting stack of paperwork on the floor beside him. On the coffee table was a large glass of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Lex smiled at his confusion. “That is your drink of choice, isn’t it? Not the kind of thing you should have on an empty stomach, I’m told.”

Clark was too tired to smile back. He hoped he looked as grateful as he felt, and sank down onto the sofa and dug in. The horrors of the night mercifully began to recede.

When he was finished, he asked, “Are you going to be up for a while?”

Lex glanced ruefully at his mountain of papers.

“I’ll be right back then,” Clark told him.

He went to his bedroom and came back with a book, stretched out on the sofa, and started to read. The paragraphs unfurled in a soothing chorus in his head, and the soft whoosh of Lex’s papers sounded reassuring in the background. After a while, he let out his breath and unhunched his shoulders.

It was surprisingly easy to lose track of time, and he was actually startled when Lex stood up and stretched and said, “I think that’s it for me.”

Clark glanced over at the clock. It was almost four.

“Are you staying up?” Lex asked.

Clark’s eyes were dry and prickly—he could barely keep them open—but the thought of what would spring to life when he tried to sleep made him loath to leave the safety of the couch. “A little longer,” he said.

Lex nodded and rounded up his papers. He stopped and laid a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Trying to be the savior of the whole world would be too much for anyone.” He patted Clark reassuringly and headed off to bed.

It didn’t make everything better. It certainly didn’t blot out the terrified screams of people he hadn’t been able to help or change the god-awful things he’d seen. But it did at least make him feel that no one else could have done any more. Maybe he wasn’t such a failure after all.

* * *

Proximity bred familiarity, even in a five-thousand-square-foot luxury apartment. So it wasn’t long before Lex could fix Clark’s coffee just the way he liked it, dark with as much sugar as the mug could possibly hold. Or before Clark was effortlessly divvying up the Sunday Planet: sports and the magazine for him, business and style for Lex, metro and international news to share. Lex soon learned that Clark was not really human in the morning until he’d had a shower and at least three cups of very strong coffee, and if Clark heard Lex humming the “Full Metal Alchemist” theme song, he knew better than to let on.

On their three-week anniversary, Lex announced over breakfast, “It’s time to go public.”

Clark’s spoonful of Captain Crunch stopped mid-air. “I thought we’d already done that. You know, when we got married and gave a press conference about it.”

“That bought us time. Everyone understands newlyweds need some privacy. But I can’t put off making public appearances forever, and people will expect to see us together.”

“What did you have in mind?” Clark asked, reaching for his orange juice.

“There’s a gala for the Metropolis Opera this Saturday, and we’ve been invited. I could always make our excuses, but I was hoping you’d agree to attend.”

“Opera?” Clark asked unenthusiastically. “You know, Lex, I seriously doubt I have anything to wear to that.”

Lex wasn’t to be put off so easily. “My tailor can come over this evening.”

Clark sighed. _Opera_. Then again, he had married the mayor of Metropolis. Cultural events came with the territory.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll go.”

Lex’s quick smile made an evening of caterwauled Italian lyrics he wouldn’t understand seem a little less unbearable.

The next evening, Mr. Gee arrived at the penthouse to take Clark’s measurements for the tuxedo. He was a very slight Indian man, with a soft, fluttery accent, and an unnerving habit of caressing Clark with his eyes. Even after he’d put away his measuring tape, he lingered, not saying anything, simply letting his gaze travel appraisingly over Clark’s body, until Clark finally cleared his throat and said, “Is that it?”

He returned two days later to fit the tux. “Very, very special for you, Mr. Kent,” he said, sending Clark off to the bedroom to change.

When he came back, Mr. Gee went to work, smoothing the lapels, pulling at the sleeves, pinning up the trousers which were slightly too long. He ran his hand up the inside of Clark’s leg and tugged at the crotch, and lingered there, doing some kind of adjustment or something that Clark really couldn’t see the need for. His hands became increasingly frisky, and Clark dearly began to wish he was at Benny’s Big and Tall buying clothes off the rack the way he usually did. Lex happened into the room then, and Mr. Gee leaped away from Clark so quickly he almost fell over the coffee table.

Lex’s eyes turned bright with anger. “You can go ahead and get changed, Clark.” And then to Mr. Gee, his voice as cold and sharp as an icicle, “A word in my office.”

Clark didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but he did have super hearing and Lex _was_ shouting. He caught phrases here and there, _how dare you_ and _I don’t care how attractive he is_ and _never happen again_ , interspersed with Mr. Gee’s stammered excuses and profuse apologies. When Clark returned to the living room, Mr. Gee was waiting for him, eyes lowered, appropriately chastened.

He took the tux and muttered, “Have it for you tomorrow.” And practically ran from the apartment.

Lex strode over to the bar and poured himself a drink, no less furious than before.

“I guess that wasn’t par for the old tailoring course then, huh?” Clark ventured.

Lex’s head snapped around. “He’s supposed to make sure the trousers fit, Clark. Not sexually assault my husband.”

A little flutter of…something passed through Clark hearing Lex use the h-word, but he didn’t have time to stop and ponder whether it was a good something or a bad something.

“Hey.” He laid a hand on Lex’s shoulder. His muscles were tense. He really was upset about this. “You know the good part about being a fashion moron? I had no idea he was doing anything wrong.”

Lex looked down at his glass. “He has a reputation as something of a pervert, but I never thought he’d be stupid enough—” He met Clark’s gaze. “Needless to say, he’ll never work for me again.”

Clark smiled. “Probably a good idea.” Strange that the same qualities that had always made him wary of Lex from afar—intensity, obsessiveness, a certain streak of puritanical vengeance—could actually be rather endearing up close and personal. “Hey, why don’t we practice going out in public? You can take me to dinner somewhere I can wear these perfectly safe, mass-produced Gap clothes.”

Lex’s lips quirked into the hint of a smile, despite his obvious efforts to fight it. “All right. But I’m still angry on your behalf, just so we’re clear.”

Clark curved an arm around his shoulder. “What do you like to eat when you’re angry?”

* * *

Their practice run at Sal’s Milanese Bar and Grill—apparently indignant rage gave Lex an appetite for Northern Italian food—went smoothly enough. They held hands for show and talked with genuine interest over dinner, and people stared as Lex had warned Clark they probably would, but he dutifully ignored it, and by the time the risotto came, he hardly even noticed.

On Friday, the tux was delivered, finished and pristinely pressed, brought by one of Mr. Gee’s assistant. Apparently, the tailor was wise enough to realize that when dealing with a seriously pissed off Lex Luthor discretion was the sum total of valor.

On the evening of the gala, Clark went to dress, rather nervous now that the big event had finally arrived. Not that he was worried about pretending to be married. As odd as it might have been, Lex had become very familiar to him in just this short amount of time, and he had no doubt they could fool the most inquisitive casual observer. The problem was that Clark was…well, kind of a klutz. A klutz somewhat lacking in social graces. Just the idea that he might embarrass Lex pained him deeply.

He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that although he had spent a lot of time in the barn he had not actually been raised in one, and went to find Lex. He was standing at the windows in the living room, gazing out over the city. _His domain_ , Clark thought. Lex’s posture was upright but not stiff, speaking of quiet confidence, unquestioned authority. His tuxedo emphasized his broad shoulders, his slender strength, and Clark’s throat went dry just looking at him. That he was even fake-married to a man like this was still rather hard to believe.

Lex sensed him and turned, and his eyes warmed with appreciation. “You look amazing.”

Clark felt the rush of blood to his cheeks. “So do you,” he said, strangely shy.

The limo dropped them in front of the opera house, and the paparazzi were already out in force. Cameras clicked away as they stepped from the car and made their way up the red carpet, holding hands.

Inside, there was a dazzle of lights, glinting off every surface, as if the theater itself were made of diamonds. The lobby was swimming in elegantly dressed men and women, clustered in circles, talking with great animation. When he and Lex swept through the door, there was a noticeable break in the roar of conversation, all eyes on them.

“Lex,” a portly man with a receding hairline in the shape of a “z” came to say hello. “Congratulations, and this must be your husband.” He shook Clark’s hand. “Adelai Wilkerson. Wonderful to meet you.”

A woman with bright blonde hair and a frosted pink smile swooped down to deliver an invitation, “Mayor Luthor, I do hope you’ll address the garden club this year.” She patted Clark on the arm. “And please join us, Mr. Kent. It’s always such a lovely evening.”

Clark soon found that socializing was not as hard as he’d feared. As long as he shook hands and smiled, people seemed satisfied enough. When he went so far as to actually remember their names—who knew a photographic memory could be such a boon to his social life?—they were downright delighted with him.

The lights began to blink off and on, and Lex told him, “The performance will start soon. We should get to our seats.”

“Oh, okay.” He reached for Lex’s hand, almost second nature by now.

Lex stopped and leaned in and warned him, “I’m going to kiss you. Try not to look startled.”

Their lips met, lightly at first, an exploration, then Lex’s tongue laid claim, stroking the roof of his mouth, and Clark curled his fingers into the perfect wool of his tuxedo, and kissed him back.

When Lex pulled away, there were bright spots of color in his cheeks. “We should do more of that,” he said. And added, “For the sake of realism.”

Clark nodded in full agreement. “Realism is key.”

The performance wasn’t nearly as tedious as Clark had feared, mostly because he focused his attention on Lex rather than the stage. Lex appeared to enjoy the singing, although occasionally Clark would catch his eye, and the expression there said that Lex was equally as aware of him.

Afterwards, there was a reception with tiny little pieces of food and tall flutes of champagne. They circled the room, Lex saying hello to people he knew, Clark smiling and accepting congratulations. Occasionally, they would drift off to the side for a display of realism. Clark liked the way Lex felt, the hardness of his body, softness of his lips, the way he held on when they kissed, the way he sighed against Clark’s mouth. It had been a long time since Clark had kissed anyone, but he was pretty sure it had never been like this.

At the end of the evening, they went to the cloakroom to retrieve their coats, and on the way back down the corridor, Clark pulled Lex into a little nook with pay phones no one ever used anymore.

“I don’t think anyone’s watching now,” Lex said, with an amused smile.

“You never know,” Clark said.

And kissed him.

* * *

The next morning, if one could even call it that when the sun was barely a glimmer on the horizon, Clark was jolted awake by an infernal buzzing. He bolted upright in bed, prepared to crunch or melt or just generally destroy whatever it was. Only something truly unholy would make that kind of racket at such an ungodly hour. It took him several sleep-deprived moments to realize the noise was his cell phone, with the annoying new ring tone that Lois had insisted would make him seem cool. He fished it out of his pants and answered.

A voice blared in his ear, “If you’re settled enough to have your picture all over the newspaper, you’re most certainly settled enough to bring your husband home to meet your parents, Clark Jerome Kent.”

He blinked. “Mom?”

“Yes, Mom,” she said, exasperated. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Um—yes?”

“Could you not answer me with another question?”

“Okay?”

She sighed. “I’m serious, Clark. I want to get to know this man you married.” She added hastily, “And your father does too, of course.”

“Um—”

“No,” she said firmly. “No ‘um.’ No excuses. Talk to your husband, decide when you’ll be coming out to Smallville, and let me know.”

“Uh—sure.”

“Good,” his mother said. “And perhaps you and Lex could try to be a bit more discreet when cameras are being pointed at you. Even a married man can get a reputation, you know.”

She said goodbye and hung up, and Clark let out a heavy sigh. Now he had to explain to Lex that his parents thought they were an actual couple and not an arrangement of mutual convenience, and that they were expecting to meet—oh, who was he kidding?—inspect their new son-in-law.

He got up, threw on his robe and shuffled down the hall, hoping Lex would still be asleep, a well-deserved lazy Sunday, giving Clark a few hours to rehearse what he was going to say. But Lex was already at the table, sipping coffee, perusing the paper.

“Good morning,” he said, downright chipper, altogether inappropriate at the crack of dawn.

“Morning,” Clark grunted and trudged over to the coffee maker.

He slumped into a chair and leafed through the paper. Maybe he’d be more human after he’d read about Met U destroying Kansas State in yesterday’s game. Before he got to the sports section, though, his own image leaped out at him. He snapped it up. It was the society page, and just as his mother had said, he and Lex were splashed all over it. One shot had caught them kissing, and, indeed, the realism was rather eye-popping. Maybe his mother did have a point about not looking so…well, bedroomy in public.

Across from him, Lex was engrossed in the stock report, and Clark took a deep breath. “I didn’t tell them,” he blurted out.

Lex glanced up, confused.

“My parents. That we’re married.”

Lex put down the paper. “Oh.” He made a wry face and nodded toward the society section. “I guess the secret’s out now.”

“Yeah.” Clark looked down at the table. “It’s not—it didn’t have anything to do with you. Why I kept it from them, I mean. I just really didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t like lying to my parents, but I can’t tell them the real reason we got married. It would just make them feel bad, like they did something wrong, and they didn’t.”

“That’s very understandable, Clark,” Lex said sympathetically.

Clark hoped he’d still feel that way after he’d heard the next part. “So now my mother wants to meet you and,” he said the rest very quickly, “she expects us to be in love.”

“Ah.” Lex leaned back in his chair, his expression mobile, as if many things were running through his head. “Well, I’m not doing anything this afternoon, are you?”

Clark practically choked on his coffee.

“You have plans?” Lex asked.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just didn’t think—”

“Nonsense.” Lex stood up from the table. “It’s high time I met my in-laws.” He checked his watch. “Shall we leave in, say, an hour?”

“Um—okay?

He really was going to have to work on those declarative sentences.

* * *

Clark fidgeted like a nervous wreck the entire way to Smallville, three hours of tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on the dashboard and squirming in his seat. Lex didn’t appear to notice. He drove calmly, classical music playing on the car’s stereo system, as if he went to meet his husband’s parents every day of the week. The only thing that kept Clark from totally hating him for his nonchalance was the fact that he’d worn a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater to visit the farm, hardly his usual attire. He consoled himself with the notion that Lex was at least a little concerned about making a good impression.

They got off the highway, and Clark gave him directions. When they got to the lane that led to his parents’ house, his heart began doing swan dives in his chest. Lex parked, and they got out, and before they headed up to the porch, Clark took Lex by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

“If my father gives you a hard time, I want you to know that it’s not you. He just has some issues with—” He wracked his brain for a gentle way of saying his dad hated Lex’s family. “Um, he just has some issues. So don’t take it personally, okay?”

Lex nodded. “Understood. But I’m sure you’re worrying for nothing, Clark.”

He put his arm around Lex and walked him up to the house. It didn’t seem to matter that their marriage was a sham. Clark had grown to really _like_ Lex, and he wanted his parents to be nice to him.

The door opened as soon as they hit the porch. Clark’s mom rushed out to give him a hug, holding on to him as if he’d just returned from war. This was not the most promising sign in the world. His dad hung back, quiet and wary.

Clark put a hand on Lex’s back. “Mom and Dad, I want you to meet Lex.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Lex said, “Mrs. Kent.” His mother nodded coolly in response, and Clark’s stomach tied itself into a tighter knot.

Lex turned to Clark’s father. “Mr. Kent. It’s a pleasure.” He held out his hand.

Clark’s dad looked hesitant, but he did shake hands. “Lex. Welcome to our home,” he said in the same good-host voice he always used with guests.

His father must have seen the look of relief on Clark’s face because he collected himself, clapped Lex on the shoulder, and said even more warmly, “We’re glad you could come visit. Let’s all go inside and have some lunch. Martha has really outdone herself.”

The table was set with Grandma Kent’s good china and crystal and a big arrangement of white tulips, a sign that his mother was seriously stressed out. Her usual motto was, “Everyday dishes are good enough for us. They’re good enough for company.”

They sat down to lunch, smothered pork chops and mashed potatoes and string beans, Clark’s favorites.

“This is delicious, Mrs. Kent,” Lex complimented. “Clark never told me his mother was such a fine cook.”

“Yes, well, it seems Clark has been holding out on a lot of us,” she said, plastering on a smile that was really kind of scary. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the meal. It’s not the gourmet fare I’m sure you’re used to, but we do the best we can out here in the country.”

There was absolute quiet, not even the chink of forks on plates, and then Clark’s dad cleared his throat. “It’s just…really good to finally meet you, Lex.”

Lex took a breath and soldiered on, “Thank you, Mr. Kent. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to getting to know you and Mrs. Kent.”

Clark’s dad waved his hand. “Jonathan. Please.”

“Jonathan,” Lex repeated, rather gratefully.

Clark shot his mother a look, and she put on another forced smile. “Yes, it is good to meet the man my son was in such a hurry to marry he couldn’t wait long enough to invite his own parents to the wedding.”

Lex looked down at his plate. “I can understand your disappointment, Mrs. Kent. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Clark said indignantly. “Don’t apologize for something I did.” He told his mother, “Lex assumed you’d be there. I’m the one who didn’t know how to tell you. If you’re angry about that, then be angry with me.”

His mother looked pointedly away, her expression no less tense than it had been before.

Clark’s father took a deep breath. “So Lex…tell me about what you’re doing down at LuthorCorp. You know, for years that manure factory of yours was an industrial accident just waiting to happen—”

“Dad!” Clark said sharply.

His father held up his hand. “Hear me out, son. What I was going to say is that I’ve seen a lot of improvements since Lex here took over.” He nodded approvingly at Lex. “Seems like you’re more interested in sustainable agriculture practices than your old man was. Wilbur, down at the organic feed co-op, says you’re coming out with some new IPM planning software. I’d be interested in hearing more about that.”

Clark blinked. For a moment, he wondered who this was and what had happened to his father.

“Wilbur at the organic feed co-op is perfectly correct,” Lex said. “Selling knowledge, even more so than products, that’s the future of agribusiness.”

He went on to explain in detail what the new software would do. Clark was glad Lex and his father had something to talk about, but he could only half follow the ins and outs of proactive strategies on pest management, and he was too busy darting worried glances over at his mother, who was picking at her food.

Finally after they’d all had pie and coffee—truly it had been the longest lunch of Clark’s life—Jonathan got to his feet. “I’d like to take Lex out to show him the farm. You want to tag along, Clark?”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here and help Mom with the dishes.”

His dad nodded sagely. “That’s probably a good idea.” He turned to Lex. “You ready?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Kent. While we’re out there, maybe we can take a look at your composting system. On the way in, I noticed you were using some interesting techniques.”

“Saw that, did you?” Clark’s dad glowed with pride. “Yeah, we can take a walk down there after we finish in the fields.” He led Lex over to the door, but then turned back. “Oh, Clark, later on I could use some help with the tractor. There’s something wrong with the carburetor, and I need to get under there and take a good look.”

“Jonathan!” his mother said sharply, hands on her hips.

“Oh, uh—” He darted a glance at Lex. “I mean—maybe you could help me shine a light under the tractor, son. Um, the way you used to when you still lived at home—”

Clark held up a hand. “It’s okay, Dad. Lex knows.”

His mother stared at him. “Don’t you think we should have discussed that first?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “No, I don’t. My husband knows the truth about me. What was there to talk about?”

She pressed her mouth together, not at all pleased.

Lex did his best to reassure her, “Clark’s secret is perfectly safe with me, Mrs. Kent. I promise you.”

She didn’t say anything, just turned on her heel, went to the table and began clearing away the dishes.

“Maybe I should—” Lex started to say.

Clark shook his head. “No, you go look at the compost pile with Dad. And have fun.” He grinned.

“Come on.” His father clapped Lex on the back. “Let’s get a move on.”

Lex’s gave Clark a lopsided smile and said under his breath, “If you need reinforcements, come get me.”

In the kitchen, his mother was doing the dishes, scrubbing each plate as if it had done something to personally offend her.

Clark leaned against the counter. “So Dad and Lex seemed to have hit it off.”

“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t look up.

“I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you’d be the one who liked him.”

The pink sponge went still, and she let out her breath. “I thought I would, too.”

“What’s really bothering you, Mom? Because you haven’t even given Lex a chance. Is it just that I married a man?”

“No, Clark, it isn’t,” she said indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I’ve always made it a point to vote for political candidates who supported personal choice.”

Clark let out his breath. “O-kay. Then does it have something to do with the fact that he’s a Luthor?”

Again, his mother responded hotly, “I would never blame a son for his father’s wrongdoing. Really, Clark. I’m not a narrow-minded fool.”

“Well what is it then? He was really beginning to lose his patience. “What do you have against Lex? Is it because he gave up his Sunday to come all the way out here to meet you? Or maybe you resent the fact that he’s at this very moment ruining a pair of five hundred dollar shoes to go out in the fields and make Dad happy?”

She threw down the sponge. “I just find it hard to like the man who’s taking you away from us!”

She turned away, but he knew she was about to cry.

He put his arm around her. “Hey, you’re my mother. No one could ever take me away from you.”

“Well, that’s not how it feels. You keep your relationship a secret. You don’t invite us to the wedding. You tell him _your_ secret without even talking to us.” She took a deep breath. “And I know. It’s your life and your decision, and you’re all grown up now. But—I guess I just wasn’t ready.” She ducked her head and let out a self-deprecating little laugh. “God. I sound like _my_ mother-in-law.”

Clark was genuinely startled. “Grandma Kent didn’t like you?”

His mother made a face. “I was the city girl who stole her boy away until the day she died.”

“Um, maybe you could cut Lex a little more slack than that?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed. “I’ll try.”

He hugged her tight. “Thanks, Mom.”

She patted his back and then pulled away, wiping a few tears. “You’d better go see about that tractor. I don’t want your father straining his back trying to fix the thing.”

Clark kissed her cheek and went out to find his dad and Lex. They were just coming in from the fields, still talking with great animation about soil management and tillage systems.

Clark helped his father with the tractor, and then said to Lex, “I guess we’d better be heading back.”

Clark’s dad shook Lex’s hand heartily. “Come back and see us soon, son.”

Clark’s mom came out of the house. “I packed up some leftovers. You probably don’t need them but—” She handed the bag to Lex.

He accepted it gratefully. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Kent. Thank you.”

“Martha,” she corrected, then gave him a quick, slightly awkward kiss to the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly pleased.

“Yes, thank you.” Clark gave his mother a big hug. “I’ll call you when we get home.”

Clark’s dad put his arm around his mom, and they headed back inside. He and Lex went to the car.

Clark stopped him before he got in. “I really appreciate this.”

Lex shook his head. “Not at all. I enjoyed myself very much.” He grinned. “Although I do think you’re confused about which one of your parents is the formidable one.”

He grinned back. “Well, thank you for coming to meet them.”

“Your parents are good people, Clark. Thank you for sharing them with me.” He expression turned rueful. “I wish I could return the favor.”

Lex never talked about his father—didn’t talk about his past at all, really—and that gave Clark a sharp pang of sympathy. He understood too well how it felt to have your life defy words. He went with his impulse and pulled Lex close. Lex tensed at first—maybe fearing pity or just not used to affection—but he did finally give in and let himself be hugged.

When Clark pulled back, he smiled. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Clark had lived with one overwhelming fear his entire life: that someone would discover his secret. So it was rather ironic that the luckiest thing that ever happened to him was Lex Luthor putting two and two together and coming up with the truth. For all Clark’s bravado with his mother—”he’s my husband, of course he knows about me”—the long engrained habit of hiding and dissembling, on top of all his trust and acceptance issues, made the notion of telling someone too terrifying to consider. He’d learned in high school, rather painfully, that if he couldn’t be open with people there was no real way to have a relationship, so he’d gotten into the habit of keeping to himself. No girlfriends, no dates, no hopes of a normal life. Lois was the only real friend he had, and that only worked because she was so blinded by her infatuation with Superman that she routinely failed to notice the obvious.

The fact was that Clark had been lonely for a long time, and the one thing that would have ended his isolation was the one thing he could never make himself do. But Lex had taken care of that, and now Clark had someone to go places with on national holidays, to call and ask “what do you want for dinner.” It was the small things that separated really living from merely getting by.

It was after six, and he was just packing up to leave for the day when the phone rang.

“Clark? It’s me,” Lex’s familiar voice flowed over the line. “We’re caught up in the budget down here. It’s a big mess. I’m afraid I’m not going to make it home for dinner.”

“Oh, okay.” Clark tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Of course, he understood—city business had to get done—but he’d been looking forward to a quiet evening at home. “Do you want me to bring you something?”

“No, we’ll order in, but thanks. I’ll see you later.”

At home, the penthouse was quiet and still. Mrs. Holman had already gone for the day, leaving dinner in the refrigerator for them to heat up. Clark opened the plastic container—Beef Wellington, her specialty—but strangely he didn’t have any appetite for it. He headed off to the game room and played several distracted rounds of Halo before giving that up, too. It was silly, he knew. He’d seen Lex just that morning, not ten hours earlier, but…well, he missed him.

An idea struck him, and he went to the bedroom to slip into the suit. He didn’t want to bother Lex while he was busy. Just a glimpse of him through the office window would do.

The night was clear and cold, the sky a dark ocean of frozen starfish, and Clark breathed in the frosty air, smiling, as he flew. He slowed down to a hover over City Hall. The lights from Lex’s office glowed a warm orange, and Clark descended, floating just outside the window, to get a look in. What he saw was a shock to the heart. He shut his eyes and opened them again, just in case he was momentarily hallucinating, but there it was, Lex and his overly devoted assistant locked in a clench on the sofa.

It took a moment before he could react at all, and then he shot straight up into the sky, as high as he could, the only way to keep himself from breaking through the glass and pulling Lex out of the arms of that husband-stealing bitch.

By the time he returned from a low orbit over the Earth, civilized rationalization had taken control. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. They had never discussed seeing other people, but surely the usual rules of fidelity didn’t apply. Lex was free to do as he pleased. Clark had no real reason to feel betrayed. He went home, changed out of the suit and left it balled up in a corner of the closet like a bad memory. Then he headed to the kitchen to console himself with food. He was balancing yet another layer of Swiss cheese on his architectonic wonder of a sandwich when Lex arrived home.

“Clark?” he called out.

Clark went to the refrigerator for pickles.

Lex tracked him to the kitchen. “Clark? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

He fished out a dill spear and said nothing.

“Is something wrong?” Lex asked. The only answer was the loud ticking of the clock above the stove. “I’m sorry I had to cancel on dinner. It was business that really couldn’t wait.”

Clark snapped around. “Yes, I’m sure groping your secretary takes top priority—”

The words froze in his mouth. There was a smudge on Lex’s collar, bright red, the exact shade of lipstick the robo-assistant always wore, and he just kind of…snapped.

Lex must have seen the storm warnings in his eyes. “It’s not what you think. _She_ kissed _me_. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

Clark wasn’t listening. He grabbed Lex and pushed him back against the refrigerator, cornering him there. “She can’t have you. You’re _my_ husband.” He pressed his face against Lex’s neck and bit him, right where the blood throbbed under the skin, marking what was his.

Lex moaned, sank his fingers into Clark’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss. “Damned right I am,” he muttered against Clark’s mouth.

Clark wasn’t sure how they ended up on the floor, but Lex was beneath him, and they were kissing messily. That was really all he needed to know. He licked the delicate points of Lex’s collarbone, swirling his tongue, and Lex bucked up, called out. Clark rubbed his cheek against his chest, the thunder of Lex’s heart like a caress on his face. He stroked his hands along his sides, the perfect milled cotton of Lex’s shirt as soft as silk on his fingers, warm from Lex’s skin, the long, lean muscles jumping at his touch. He pressed a kiss to Lex’s belly and glanced up, and Lex’s eyes were locked on him, a sweltering blue. His erection was clearly outlined against his trousers, an offering, and Clark rubbed his face all over his crotch, inhaling deeply, the scent of wool and sex. Lex shuddered and spread his legs, and Clark could already taste him, bitter-salt heat on his tongue.

“Clark!”

The demand in it startled him. This wasn’t what they’d set out to be, and even though he wanted it so much, it still really confused him.

Lex must have seen the indecision, must have feared he would bolt because he grabbed Clark’s arm, fingers digging in. “I’m your husband, remember?” He guided Clark’s hand to his erection. “And for the sake of our marriage, please do something about this.”

* * *

The next day at work, it was a day for blushing and distraction. Oh, sure, he _tried_ to pay attention to his work. He would type some words and stare at them for a while, clean up the occasional dangling participle, spell check, but, really, it could have been an archaic form of Urdu for all the sense it made to him. The newsroom buzzed around him, but he only half heard it, most of him still back in Lex’s bedroom, tangled up in Lex’s sheets and Lex’s sweet, yielding body.

”You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” The words blared out at him.

He glanced up, startled. Lois looked seriously displeased.

“You were talking to me?” he asked guiltily.

She sighed. “How long do you think this moony-eyed phase is going to last? I mean, if you had to guess?”

“I’m moony-eyed?” he asked, strangely pleased.

“Since the day you got married.” She rested her chin on her hand and gave him an inquisitive look. “So just how good in bed is your husband?”

Snatches of memory from the night before flashed back at him—Lex’s mouth on him, his fingers inside Lex, the noises they’d made, dirty, intimate things they’d said—and Clark blushed violently.

Lois started to laugh. “Question answered, Smallville. Question answered.”

Still, he and Lex hadn’t actually talked about anything, hadn’t made any declarations. The words “this is a real marriage now” had not passed between them. Clark spent the better part of the day counseling himself not to make assumptions. It could have been a one-shot deal. Lex might never want to sleep with him again. He practiced this resolve all the way home. _Don’t assume, don’t assume_. The worst thing he could do would be to jump Lex the moment he came through the door.

He kept to this plan quite successfully until Lex actually got home, slightly damp from the rain that had just started to fall, appealingly mussed, his eyes turning a dark, wild gray when they latched onto Clark. So much for resolutions.

Clark’s jacket got tangled under him as they fell onto the sofa, restricting his movements, but Lex was too hungry and determined to let him up long enough to fix it. Besides he seemed to like it that way, having Clark at his mercy. His every touch was a tease, tantalizing whisper of breath against Clark’s cheek, his tricky tongue tracing delicate patterns over Clark’s neck, his hand settling lightly on Clark’s cock only to move away, over and over again, so that every time it returned it made Clark shudder uncontrollably.

Clark clutched at him and squeezed his eyes shut with pleasure and begged without the least shred of dignity. And yet, all the while there was a voice in the back of his head whispering that anything that seemed this easy or felt this good had to be wrong somehow.

It sounded suspiciously like his father’s voice.

Finally he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Wait, Lex.” He caught his hand. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Of course we should,” Lex pronounced, continuing his colonization of Clark’s neck. “We are married, after all.”

“Still, maybe it’s not right.”

Lex lifted his head and met his gaze. “Clark, even the most unyielding moralist would be hard pressed to find some reason why two people who are lawfully wed shouldn’t be intimate together.”

Clearly, Lex did not have the same experience with small-town prudes that Clark did. Some of the real diehards in Smallville were still complaining about same-sex marriages all these years later.

Besides, “We’re not really—”

Lex cut him off with a kiss. “Of course, we are. In the eyes of the great state of Kansas and the relevant federal authorities. The INS. IRS.” He punctuated each acronym with a nip to the throat, no doubt giving Clark an unseemly reaction to red tape and tax returns for the rest of his life. “So I have a perfect legal right to suck your cock.” He stroked Clark’s erection through his pants. “And from the feel of things, I’d say a moral imperative, as well.”

Clark shut his eyes and tried not to get carried away. “I’m not kidding, Lex.”

Lex slid to the floor, kneeling there, poised over Clark’s groin. “Neither am I.” And then he proceeded to show Clark just how seriously he took the matter of connubial blowjobs.

* * *

Time just seemed to slip through your fingers when things were good. It was a tired old cliché, something his father liked to say. And yet Clark could not believe how fast the last eight months, the best two hundred and forty-eight days of his life, had flown by. It felt as if he’d lived his entire marriage at super speed.

Lex burrowed closer in his sleep, head resting on Clark’s shoulder, his fingers unconsciously clenching and unclenching in the soft cotton of Clark’s pajama top. Clark tightened his hold on him, brushed a kiss to his forehead and listened to him breathe.

Sometimes Clark felt, to borrow another temporal cliché, like he was living on borrowed time. He and Lex had never _said_ they wouldn’t get divorced as agreed when the year was up. It was voodoo thinking that kept Clark from bringing it up. If he didn’t say anything, maybe the whole problem would just magically go away.

There were other times, though—times like this, when Lex was in his arms, sleepy and sated and his, and the whole world just seemed so _right_ —that he felt certain it didn’t matter how or why they’d started. Something this good couldn’t just end. It wouldn’t make any sense.

Lex made a little snuffling noise, and pressed closer, and Clark was pretty sure he was only playing at being asleep now. Clark toppled him over onto his back and climbed on top of him. Sure enough, Lex’s eyes snapped open, fully alert and interested. One kiss led to many, and by the time they were finished, they were both panting and sticky and the covers were lying in a tangled heap on the floor.

At breakfast Lex asked, “Your parents are still coming to visit this weekend, aren’t they?”

“As far as I know.”

Lex nodded. “Then I’ll have Mrs. Holman pick up some of those croissants your mother likes so much.”

Clark gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks.” He found it quite endearing that Lex spared no expense in pastry trying to win his mother-in-law’s approval.

Lex caught his look of amusement and huffed indignantly that he only wanted guests in their home to be comfortable, and Clark kissed him before he could launch into a treatise on the seven habits of highly effective hosts.

“Have a good day.”

Lex did his best to look put-upon, but the way he touched Clark’s face as they said goodbye gave him away entirely.

At work, Lois was in one of her moods to muse aloud about Superman, and Clark tried very hard not to listen, although Lois had a way of repeating a question over and over again, relentlessly, until she finally got an answer. It made it hard to ignore her for long.

“But where do you think he _goes_ when he’s not out rescuing people? What do you think he _does_?”

“Night manages a Bennigan’s?” he suggested helpfully.

She scowled. “You’re not even remotely as funny as Jon Stewart. So don’t even try it. Besides, I’m serious. Do you think he has another identity?”

Clark did his best cheesy sci-fi imitation, “He could be walking among us, even as we speak.”

Lois leaned forward in her chair. “He _could_ have a job. I mean, other than the superhero gig. He could be—”

“The shammy shine specialist down at the carwash?”

“A teacher or something.” She frowned. “No, he’d need a more flexible schedule.”

“One of those guys at the OTB picking used tickets off the floor. That’s pretty flexible.”

“Maybe a cop,” Lois said. “He could be working a beat, zip into the suit whenever he needed to and take out the bad guys.” Her face lit up. “Think about it. It would be perfect. He’d have access to all kinds of inside information that would help him as Superman.”

The problem with Lois brainstorming about Superman was that she often got too damned close to the truth. It certainly wasn’t a big leap from cop out on the streets to reporter working the metro beat.

Clark headed her off. “Don’t you have anything to think about besides Superman?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

“That’s easy for you to say. You have a gorgeous husband to obsess over. All I have is a mysterious, unavailable alien.” She looked down at her desk. “Maybe I should get a cat.” For all that Lois was a hard-bitten reporter, she had some not-so-well-hidden spinster anxieties.

As usual, Clark felt like an ass for playing on them, and said more kindly, “I’m sure Superman just—hangs out on the dark side of the moon or something when he’s not saving people.”

“You really don’t think he could have a job?”

“Well, he’s not exactly going to have a social security number, is he?”

“There are ways around that,” Lois argued.

“Fraud? Do you really think that Superman’s style?”

“ _No_ ,” she said indignantly. “But—it wouldn’t really be a crime if he was just trying to protect his identity.”

“I doubt the people at the immigration service would think so.”

Lois snorted. “What? You think they’re going to deport Superman? Where to? The cloud of dust that used to be Krypton?”

Clark set his jaw, he hated when Lois treated him like he was stupid. “You know what things are like with the economy right now. Superman’s not a citizen. For all intents and purposes, he’s an illegal alien,” he said, borrowing Lex’s terminology, “and I’m sure it would be a very serious problem if he were discovered working without the proper legal standing. The city could even lose some of its federal funding.”

Lois laughed so hard she seemed in danger of falling off her chair. “Aw, Smallville, you’re so cute.” She wiped her eyes. “First of all, this is Superman we’re talking about, not some migrant farm worker. And second, do you remember Joint Resolution #512?”

He frowned. “No?”

She sighed. “You know you’re never going to win a Pulitzer if you don’t stay on top of things better. Congress passed a resolution thanking Superman for his service to humanity. It also conferred on him, and I quote, ‘all the rights, privileges and freedoms of our great democracy.’ In other words, citizenship. I double-checked with a lawyer just to make sure. So Superman could night manage that Bennigan’s or work the shammy cloth at the Jiffy Lube without fear of _la Migra_.”

Clark stared at her in consternation. “When did this happen?”

She made her “duh” face. “Two years ago.”

“But—” He was grasping at straws. “It must not be very well known. Right? I mean, if someone didn’t follow Superman the way you do—” And who could? Clark himself didn’t know about things like Joint Resolution #512.

“I wrote an article about it, Smallville. Why do you think I consulted with the lawyer?” She pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Are you saying you don’t read my stuff?”

It was possible Lex had never seen the piece. Clark wanted desperately to believe this, but even as he was formulating the excuse, he knew it was hopeless. He had a very clear picture of Lex pouring over the five newspapers he read every day, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s as he took in every detail. Clark started to replay that first meeting in his head, when Lex had dropped the marriage bombshell on him, and it was like watching a movie again after you already know how it ends. The set up just seemed so painfully obvious. _I’m sure we can think of something if we put our heads together_ and _how do you feel about matrimony?_ and _it would solve both our problems_. God. No wonder Lois treated him like an idiot.

Lois mistook the cause of his stricken expression and softened her tone, “Well, I guess I don’t exactly read all your articles, either.”

He lurched to his feet, grabbed for his jacket. “I’ve got to go.”

“But—”

“Tell the Chief there’s this…thing I’ve got to go take care of.”

He blurred into the suit, to the roof and took off. Grief drove him—he didn’t know, or even care, where—he just let it carry him, flying at the speed of rage, until the first wave of loss had passed. He found himself in a dark, empty part of space then, no planets, light from distant stars only the palest flicker. For a moment, it seemed so easy to keep going, until he found something else or disappeared into nothing. But Earth had a hold on him, and he’d been something before Lex. He would still be something without him.

It was late when he got back. He changed back into his own clothes on the way down the stairs—this was personal, the suit would only get in the way—and slipped silently into the penthouse.

He heard Lex’s voice coming from his office. “Well, did he say where he was going?” There was a sharp note of worry. “Okay. If you hear from him, ask him to call me.”

Clark stood in the doorway, watching. Lex bent to dial to another number, the curve of his neck so delicate, so graceful. The light from the lamp fell across his face, a soft, warm glow, and he looked so beautiful. It was the last time Clark would ever let himself think that.

When Lex looked up, he was startled at first, then quickly relieved. “Clark. God, I was worried. Are you all right?”

He was the perfect, deceitful picture of concern, and Clark’s chest clenched, a battle between hatred and loss.

“You must think I’m pretty stupid, don’t you?”

Lex frowned. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

Clark could feel himself shaking, and he couldn’t make it stop. “Did you get a good laugh? When you tricked me into marrying you.”

There were levels upon levels in Lex’s eyes, fast shifting, as he searched through possible excuses, plausible explanations.

Clark cut him off before he could lie. “Joint Resolution #512? You’ve heard of it, I’m sure.”

Lex looked like a cornered animal. “It’s not what you think. I—I only wanted—”

“It was so easy, wasn’t it? To play on my fears. Exploit my vulnerabilities. The alien who doesn’t belong anywhere. Doesn’t have a place in this world. God, I was actually _grateful_ to you for helping me.” He shook his head. “Why did you do it? What the hell did you _want_?”

“Just you,” Lex said softly. “To know you. Be close to you.” His voice was raw and vulnerable, the look in his eyes beseeching. “I love you.”

It was what Clark had wanted for so long, and hearing it now made him actually think about hitting Lex. “And that’s what you decided to do about it?”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice!” Lex raised his voice. He took a deep breath and then said with more control, “Not that what I did was right, but I did try other ways of getting your attention. All those interviews and lunch meetings and phone calls. What did you think that was about? My great love for the press?”

Clark clenched his jaw. “You could have just been straightforward for once in your life. Asked me out like a normal person. Ever think of that?”

“Of course, I thought of it, Clark,” Lex said exasperated. “Would you have said yes? Would you even have considered it? Who was the last person you dated with any seriousness?” Clark wouldn’t dignify that with a response, so Lex answered for him, “Lana Lang. Over ten years ago.” His voice grew gentler, “I can tell when someone is convinced they’re doomed to be alone. It’s something I happen to know a lot about.”

It sounded so genuine, and that was the problem with Lex. He told such convincing lies.

“So you just assumed if I came to live with you that I’d naturally end up in your bed?” Clark said bitterly.

Lex did his best impression of humility. “I tried never to assume anything, but I did hope. I won’t deny that.”

“Did you set up that little scenario with your assistant? Play on my jealousy to speed things along.”

Lex shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not!” He held Clark’s gaze earnestly. “I’m not proud of what I did to get into your life, but you have to believe me. I _never_ lied to you while we were married.”

Clark stared down at the floor. It would be so nice to be able to believe that. So nice and so impossible.

“Come on, Clark. Let’s just try to calm down and talk this out,” Lex said pleadingly. “Maybe the details aren’t what you thought, but the important things are still the same. This doesn’t have to change anything—”

“But it does!” Clark said half hysterically. “It changes everything.”

“Clark—”

The walls seemed too close, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he just had to get away.

“Clark!”

He shook his head. “I just—I can’t. I’ll send someone for my stuff.”

* * *

There was always insult to injury after a heartbreak. It was never possible just to retreat into a cocoon of silent misery and emerge…days, weeks, years later…whatever it took, until you’d finally stopped feeling in imminent danger of collapse. Instead, there were explanations to offer, knowing glances to suffer through, the barrage of advice and sympathy that, though kindly meant, mostly just made you feel more desperate.

Clark’s first ordeal was to call his parents and gently uninvite them for the weekend.

“It’s just not a good time,” he told his mother vaguely.

“Okay,” she said, in a tone that indicated she was ready to listen.

“And—it would be better if you called me at my old number, not the penthouse. I don’t—you won’t find me there.”

He took a deep breath and waited. For a moment, there was only silence, and Clark braced for I-told-you-so.

But his mother kept surprising him. “People fight, Clark. Especially the first year they’re married. And they get through it.”

Clark was sure this was true. Then again, if either he or Lex were people like everyone else, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

At work, he did his best to pretend there was nothing wrong. He tried to keep things simple, concentrate on just one thought, one task, one moment at a time. He quickly learned how to change the subject whenever anyone brought up his husband.

He must not have been terribly successful, though. By the end of the week, knowing glances ran ahead of him wherever he went in the newsroom. Jimmy kept bringing him doughnuts all day long, and Perry asked if he needed some time for himself, not a concept Clark would have thought the chief was familiar with.

It was Lois, not surprisingly, who finally cornered him in the break room. “Hey, Smallville, you know what I’ve been missing lately?”

He shook his head and hoped to God she would say fifty-percent-off sales at Macy’s or those apple tarts they used to have at the corner deli.

But of course she didn’t. “I miss that annoying moony-eyed look of yours. I can’t help wondering where it went.”

He poured his coffee and missed the mug entirely, spilling it everywhere. “Shit!”

“Here.” She grabbed some paper towels. “Let me.”

Lois cleaned up the mess, and Clark stood there, hanging onto the counter, only years of experience pretending to be normal keeping him from crumbling it in his fingers.

“Hey,” Lois put her hand on his arm, “what happened, Clark? Talk to me.”

She never called him by his actual _name_ , and it felt like the world was ending.

He must have really lost it then, because the next thing he knew the door was closed and Lois was maneuvering him over to the table, pressing the coffee-warm mug into his hand. He took a sip. She’d overloaded it with powdered creamer, and his eyes felt suddenly hot. Lois plying him with chemically treated food substitutes was the equivalent of someone else offering him a reassuring hug.

“It’s over,” he finally blurted out, and the words seemed to hang there in the air.

“You and Lex?” she asked carefully.

He nodded.

There was a pause that felt like lead, and then she said, “I find that kind of hard to believe. Just last week you were—”

He shook his head. “It was a lie.” Grief gripped him by the throat. “All of it. He never loved me.”

Clark knew she was watching him, could feel it, but he didn’t look up. Whatever was in her eyes, he didn’t want to see it.

“Look, Clark, maybe he did something totally shitty and unforgivable. Maybe it is over. I don’t know. But I’ve seen you together, and, believe me, that man definitely loves you. If someone looked at me the way he looks at you?” She smiled ruefully. “I’d give up Superman for it.”

She patted his hand and got up and went back to work. Clark sat there with this thick, pale coffee and wished he could find some comfort in it.

The days passed in glacier style, cold and infernally slow. Clark found reasons to stay at the office, writing a year’s backlog of lifestyle pieces, organizing his paperclips. When he did go home to his apartment, it was like he didn’t fit there anymore, like he was trying to go back in time or squeeze himself into clothes long since outgrown.

He watched a lot of television, turning it up loud, trying to insulate himself with the artificial noise of it. Sometimes, he would see Lex, shots of him addressing city council or negotiating with the sanitations workers union or stopping to talk with the press. He always managed to look accessible and at the same time perfectly opaque, the stranger you start to think you know because you see him all the time in your living room.

Clark had become less a stranger to himself, though. In fact, when he looked around his apartment, his eyes were too open. He couldn’t ignore what it betrayed about him, the stunted expectations, the desiccated hope. He hated that. He didn’t want Lex to be right, about anything.

After a few weeks, he could get through the days without feeling as if his molecules were drifting apart. He threw himself against the hard stone of existence, worked and kept himself busy with the basics of survival and told himself that was all he’d had before and it would be enough.

There was no single moment of clarity when he made the decision to go see Lex. It was a quiet evolution. Even when he touched down on the roof of Lex’s building, he didn’t know why he was there or what he thought he could accomplish. There was just this fractured belief that no matter how or why they had started they couldn’t just be over. Not like this.

When he got to the door leading to the penthouse, it still recognized him, still opened on cue, a love letter in encrypted bits and bytes, _please come home_. He moved with ponderous deliberation on the stairs, giving himself time to let that sink in. As he stepped into the penthouse, he was met by the same stillborn silence he’d been living with at his apartment, and he thought maybe it was simply the sound of loneliness.

Outside it was overcast, the sky like lead, but in his office, Lex had turned on only one lamp, the light slanting across his face, making the purple smudges beneath his eyes look deep and tired. Clark’s first thought was, _he hasn’t been sleeping either_. His next was, _good_.

It took a moment to muster his voice and then he called out quietly, “Lex.”

Lex’s eyes snapped up to meet him.

After a moment, “I wasn’t expecting you.” His expression was studiously blank.

“You didn’t change my security clearance.”

“I hoped you’d still have some use for it.”

Clark’s feet seemed to be in charge of him. They carried him all the way around the desk, right up to Lex.

“What do you want, Clark?” Lex asked, staring up at him.

He wouldn’t have thought he knew the answer to that, but the words came spilling out, “I want you not to lie. And to make me believe you.” It was truer than anything he could have planned.

Lex hesitated a moment. “You—you don’t remember the first time we met, do you?”

“A press conference, maybe?”

“Not in Metropolis. In Smallville.” Lex watched him intently, as if willing the memory.

Clark frowned. “I don’t think that’s something I’d forget.”

“You were very young.”

He still didn’t have any recollection, not a picture anyway, but he could hear cornstalks in the wind and smell the black, rich earth. A sense of familiarity, old and deep, wrapped itself around his ribs.

Lex’s eyes never left his face. “It’s not clear to me, either. The picture I have in my head. But I know it’s after the meteors, and I’m hurt, and I think I’m in a car, and you’re there. And you touch my face,” there’s a sense of wonder in Lex’s voice, “and I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

As he told the story, Clark could almost feel the smooth skin of Lex’s cheek beneath his fingers.

“I knew it was you the first time I saw you. You were still new at the Planet, and they’d sent you to cover a city council meeting. I was petitioning for some zoning allowances for LuthorCorp. You looked so earnest, taking notes on what every speaker said. And I could see in you the boy in those pictures in my head.”

Clark swallowed hard and gripped the back of the chair.

Lex’s face was as open as he’d ever seen it. “You want me to give you a reason to believe? Here’s what I’ve got. I never investigated you to figure out you were Superman. I never needed to. I knew you, and I knew we had a destiny—I’ve known it since I was nine years old—and I may have done all the wrong things to get us together. If I were any good at this, I wouldn’t have a trail of ex-wives who tried to kill me. But what I did…I did for the right reasons.”

Lex finished and sat there waiting, looking almost afraid. There was a voice in Clark’s head that said maybe it really could be just this easy. For once, it was his own voice.

“I can’t be with someone who manipulates me. And I want you in my life.” He leaned in close, his face mere inches from Lex’s. “So just. stop. doing. it.”

Lex seemed to be waiting for the catch. “Okay…”

Clark straightened up. “Good.”

“That’s it?” Lex looked confused. “Does this mean—you’ll be coming home?”

“Just one condition.”

Lex’s wariness returned. “And that would be?”

“I’d like to get married again. No pretense this time. And I want my parents to be there. It would make my mother happy.”

Lex swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said softly. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Clark held his gaze earnestly. “I love you, too.”

For a moment, neither of them seemed to know what to do. Tracing your footsteps back from oblivion was tricky, awkward business. But then Lex finally thought to stand, their bodies so near, and instinct took over. They reached for each other at the same instant, and Clark closed his eyes as he held on.

Maybe he didn’t believe in destiny the way Lex did, but this still felt like coming home.


End file.
